


Stay, Bruce. Stay.

by Adenil



Series: Seeing What Sticks [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: 5 +1, 5 Things, 5 Times, Domestic Avengers, M/M, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:33:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1976187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times the team tried to make Bruce feel loved, and one time he knew he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One: Pepper

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after _Run, Banner! Run!_. You will note that fic is not finished yet. That's okay! This fic can stand alone, and will explain any history you need to know. Just know that Bruce runs when he feels too comfortable.
> 
> Involves lots of friendship feels for Bruce and catharsis for me.

Pepper didn’t think that Tony trying to kiss Bruce was an omelette-worthy offense, but Tony did. She’d had that moment of fear when he presented it to her, flashbacks from when Tony was dying and she didn’t even know. But things were different now. Tony was almost (but not quite) a responsible adult, able to talk about what was bothering him.

 

She pushed the omelette into the garbage and listened to Tony explain that he was a colossal screw up who kept forgetting to put her first. He wandered around the room, a nervous wreck, as he said that he was trying very hard, but didn’t quite know what to do with himself. After, she forgave him and they had a date night. She spent most of it thinking of all the ways that she could let Bruce know that she didn’t hold a grudge.

 

It would be a long time before she got the chance.

 

*

 

When Bruce and Clint finally returned from their Adventure that No One Talked About, she hardly noticed. She noticed Clint, sure, because he suddenly situated himself into their lives again. He’d never been one for hiding from problems. Bruce was more elusive. Pepper realized that he only seemed to be avoiding her and Tony, probably out of some misguided sense of guilt.

 

She finally managed to corner him in his lab one day, and handed him a datapad before he could run.

 

“How is your clean water project coming, Bruce?” she asked as she shoved the datapad into his hands.

 

“Oh, ah…” He accepted the pad nervously. “It’s going well. I had a few issues with the size of the device, but I’ve managed to get it at about twenty percent of its original size.”

 

Pepper blinked at him. “I’m amazed you could do that,” she said honestly. “And it’s still as efficient?”

 

“Oh, it’s actually a little more efficient. But that was just happenstance. I was lucky that shrinking the device made it possible to increase the output.” He gestured with his datapad at a hologram floating above the desk, pointing out the inflow and outflow. “It should be enough to remove any residue from about five-thousand cubic miles of water before it needs to be replaced.”

 

“That’s amazing, Bruce,” she told him. She tried to ignore the way he shook his head, brushing off her compliment. “I actually came here to ask a favor of you.”

 

“Anything,” he said immediately. “What can I do?”

 

Pepper smiled a little, hoping to appear placating. She suddenly felt a little guilty about this. She was perceptive enough to know that Bruce felt responsible for what Tony had done. Even though he hadn’t talked to her about it, and she hadn’t mentioned it to him, she could see that he was trying to make it up to her. She wanted to let him know that it was all right, that nothing was really wrong. That she didn’t care that Tony had tried to kiss him. But Bruce was a private man whose life was always on display. She would have to tell him without words.

 

“Don’t agree just yet,” she said carefully. She tapped the datapad with one finger. “Take a look at the request first. I’ll be representing Stark Industries at the Cleaner Earth Conference this year. I need a plus one and, if you like, I can get you on the roster to show off what you’ve been working on.”

 

Bruce stared at her, wide-eyed. She glanced down to the pad in his hands and watched him clutch it a little tighter, then forcibly relax. She glanced back up and saw him grace her with a small smile. She smiled back.

 

“I would be happy to accompany you, Ms. Potts,” he said in a voice as small as his smile.

 

“Pepper,” she said instantly. “Reservations are already being handled, so all you need to do is show up at the airport with your suit. Read through the conference and let me know your itinerary, all right?”

 

“All right.” He glanced down at the pad and began flipping through the digital pages. He worried the edge of the pad with his thumb for a moment before looking up at her over the rim of his glasses. “Thank you, Pepper.”

 

“Thank you, Bruce.” She smiled her winning-smile at him, thankful that Bruce was an easier person to manage than Tony. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

 

He gave her a soft nod in response, and waved her out. She left the lab with a little bounce in her step. She didn’t notice Bruce setting down the datapad and grabbing his jacket, leaving through the back door.

 

(Clint noticed though, and found Bruce at a dive in New Hampshire the next day.)

 

*

 

Bruce looked good with an honest smile on his face, Pepper decided as she handed him a glass of champagne. He blessed her with that smile as he accepted, then graciously introduced her to the man he had been talking to for the last twenty minutes.

 

She listened in on their conversation, sipping at her own drink. Bruce was animated, practically gleeful, as he discussed the connection between radiation and clean drinking water. Pepper knew she was smart, but their talk was so far out of her field of knowledge that all she could really do was smile and nod along before getting swept up in a crowd looking to meet Stark Industries’ CEO.

 

It was later, much later, when she saw Bruce exchange business cards with the man, that she decided to talk to him. Bruce was alone again, wavering against the back wall and observing the crowd. She sashayed over to him, feeling pleasantly warm.

 

“So, what do you think?” she asked.

 

Bruce nodded at her, almost benevolently. “I think you didn’t ask me here as a favor to you.”

 

Pepper laughed. “You caught me. Although my reasons _were_ partially selfish. I really just wanted to see you in a suit.”

 

He glanced away and raised his drink to his mouth, taking a slow sip. She wondered if it was his first drink of the night, for the glass was still completely full. “This is nice,” he said eventually. “I’d forgotten what it was like.”

 

She sipped her own drink and moved to stand beside him against the wall. For a moment they just watched the crowd ebb and flow, seeing microcosmic relationships form and break apart as people talked. “Well, we’d be happy to have you represent us again at future conferences,” Pepper told him. She swirled her glass and watched the bubbles escape from the smooth sides. “And I wouldn’t mind coming with you again.”

 

She could feel him looking at her as she spoke. She didn’t turn, though. She just let him look and think about her words.

 

“Ms. Potts, there’s something that I think I should—”

 

“I really meant it,” she interrupted. She turned to watch Bruce blink at her in confusion. “That we should go to more conferences together. Even now Tony is difficult to contain around people. He’s never been known for his people skills. Oh, sure, he can talk to them and wine and dine them, but he invariably says the wrong thing. Did you know that during the Mandarin debacle he holed up with this little boy? The boy told him his dad had left, and he said not to be a pussy about it.” She spread her hands, giving Bruce an incredulous look. “Who says that?”

 

Bruce hid behind his drink again. “I actually did know that,” he said. “He told me the whole story.”

 

“He said you fell asleep.”

 

He tapped the edge of his glass, watching his own bubbles rise. “I thought there were some things he was saying that he wouldn’t want me to hear.”

 

“Oh.” She had the sudden urge to grab Bruce by the jacket and shake him, tell him he didn’t have to be so selfless all the time. She contented herself with reaching out and placing her hand on his arm. “I suppose what I meant was not to take anything Tony does too seriously. I don’t.”

 

Bruce glanced down at her hand on his arm. Pepper could see the barest hint of a smile threatening to form on his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Good.” She moved to lace arms with him, pulling him a little closer. “Now, I heard someone say there was an after party with an actual DJ on the display floor. How good is your dancing?”

 

“Not very good,” he said, but he still had that almost-smile on his face, so she counted it as a win. He let her pull him away from the wall.

 

“That’s just fine,” she told him. “I can lead.”

 

As it turned out, Bruce was very good at dancing. But he still let Pepper take the lead. They danced until _Love Shack_ came on and Bruce excused himself with that same honest smile.

 

Bruce was lost for three days. Pepper tried not to let it affect her.


	2. Natasha

“Hulk down! Repeat, Hulk down!”

 

Natasha looked up, saw the Hulk tipping off the roof of a nearby skyscraper, his body shrinking and morphing until he was pale and pink and Just-Bruce, hurtling towards the ground.

 

“I’ve got him, Clint.” She dashed forward and in a flash she had a grappling hook out and swung up, her momentum carrying her into Bruce. She gathered him bodily to her chest and they flew over the head of a robot and landed on the far side with a _whump_. She could feel him clinging to her and she tried to survey his injuries. “Bruce, are you—”

 

She stopped. Because Bruce was _laughing_.

 

It was just this side of absurd as he threw his head back and let out a whoop of joy. Natasha blinked at him and shoved him behind a flipped-over car.

 

“Wow, Nat that was great!” He started to stand and she pushed his head down, making him narrowly dodge the blast from a nearby robot.

 

“’Nat?’” She repeated blankly. “Did you just call me ‘Nat?’”

 

“Yes, yes, let’s do it again.” Bruce made a grabby-hands gesture at her grappling hook, the smile on his face stretching to almost comic proportions. “I liked it! Why didn’t you tell me swinging was so fun?”

 

She pushed off the mostly-naked man incredulously and tried to make him hold still long enough for the robots to lose interest. After a moment she gave up on waiting and shot the nearest one, leaving them unaccosted .

 

Clint’s voice crackled through her comm. “Widow, how is he?”

 

“He’s…” she stared at Bruce, who was now examining the destroyed robot with a certain mirth. He was still laughing, holding his belly. “He’s happy?”

 

“…What?”

 

Rogers broke through the comm. “He was hit by a canister of some kind of gas. Keep him safe and occupied until medical gets there. We’ll handle the ‘bots.”

 

“Understood.” She stood in one fluid motion and went to Bruce, who was wiping tears of joy from his eye. “Bruce,” she said carefully, as if she was afraid to spook him (which… she was). “Are you all right?”

 

“Oh, Nat.” He spun around and threw his arms out wide. “You’re so kind to worry about me! But how are you? Do you need a hug? You always look like you could use one.” And without further preamble he pulled her tightly to his chest.

 

Natasha froze, stunned, as Bruce hugged her. She had the sudden, inexplicable thought that Bruce was really good at hugging. He folded her into his arms and draped his head against her shoulder, burying his face in her neck. He was warm and solid and she felt like she could just melt right there, safe in the arms of her friend.

 

She yanked away. “What are you doing?” she spat.

 

Bruce seemed confused. Then, just as suddenly as he had been laughing, he started crying. Tears rolled down his face, hot and wet, and he buried his head in his hands and collapsed to his knees in the middle of the rubble. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so small she could barely hear him. “Not supposed to do that without asking. I’m sorry.”

 

“Tell him it’s okay,” Clint said. She heard the twang of an arrow over the comm, and knew they were on a private line. “But if you tell him it wasn’t his fault, he won’t believe you. And, Nat, you need to get him out of there until whatever it is wears off.”

 

“U-understood,” she said, and then internally cursed herself for stuttering. She switched her comm to stop broadcasting and knelt beside Bruce, close, but not touching.

 

“Bruce, it’s okay,” she said. He didn’t look at her. “I’m not upset. Everything is okay.”

 

He jerked his head up. She could see red around his eyes and clear tracks in the dirt on his face. “You’re okay?”

 

“Yes, I’m fine. We need to get out of here before more hostiles come.” She reached forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. She lead him towards the nearest undamaged building, trying to steer him around broken glass and twisted metal to spare his bare feet.

 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Again, he pulled a one-eighty, suddenly sounding bright and cheerful again. “You’re such a good friend, Nat. It makes me happy when you’re happy. I like all my friends happy.” He let her pull him along, twisting his head to look at the ruined buildings all around them. “Wow,” he said with a low whistle. “I don’t think I’ve every just _looked_ at the city. Isn’t it amazing?”

 

“Very,” she said, and kicked down the door.

 

She led him into the deserted building, listening with half an ear as he continued to jabber on about how beautiful the city was. How happy it made him. He still had that smile on his face, and it was disturbing how much it, well, disturbed her. It shouldn’t have been so odd to see an honest smile on Bruce’s face. But every other smile she’d seen on him had either been fake, or self-hating. This one was open, joyful. It made her throat hurt.

 

“Sit,” she ordered, and he obediently did so.

 

“You’re so cool, Nat,” he said dreamily, watching her take up a post by the door, her gun drawn. “You seem sad, are you sad?”

 

“I’m not sad, Bruce,” she said. She watched the street warily, searching for more robots.

 

“Are you mad then? Did I do something?”

 

Natasha turned around, looking at Bruce. He looked devastated again, and she smiled at him. It was partially forced, relying only slightly on her training. Normally she didn’t smile during a mission, but she wanted to see Bruce grinning again so she could burn it into her memory.

 

“You didn’t do anything, Bruce,” she said. She kept her tone friendly and open, and it became less forced as Bruce smiled back. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Happy!” His grin exploded across his face and he stuck out his legs, kicking them like a child. She stared at the motion for a moment before dragging her gaze back to his face. He was laughing. “This is so weird! Why aren’t I angry?” He spread his hands out to her, giving her an incredulous, pleased look. “I’m always angry.”

 

“I know.” She worried her lower lip at his words, and watched as his face contorted into another absurd smile. “Whatever hit you is messing with your emotions. Things will get better.”

 

“I dunno,” Bruce said, still kicking his legs and smiling softly at her. “I kind of like this. Maybe I’m broken now and I’ll be happy forever.” He threw his hands over his head with a sigh, stretching, and fell back against the ground. “That’d be nice.”

 

Natasha took one more look out the door and decided they were probably safe. She moved to sit beside Bruce, pulling her knees up to her chest. Bruce had his eyes closed, his hands folded behind his head, and he was humming pleasantly to himself. It only lasted a second, though, before his face screwed up in sorrow again.

 

Bruce’s eyes flew open. “Oh no,” he said. “Oh no.”

 

“What is it?” She held very still, fighting between helping and fleeing.

 

He looked at her, his eyes unfocused. “It won’t last forever.” And he started crying again.

 

Natasha jerked forward, moving automatically as her body made the decision for her. She placed a hand on his head and he stilled instantly, tears still flowing, but in confusion. “It’s okay,” she cooed. “I’m your friend. I’m here for you, Bruce.”

 

His face twisted in a smile and he rolled over to cuddle against her side. “You’re so nice, Nat.” He sighed, and she began to pet his head absently. “Tell me a happy story?”

 

“Okay.” She looked up at the ceiling, centering herself. “Did I ever tell you how I met Clint?”

 

She ran her hand through his hair and let him relax as she told him little tales about her life. She had barely enough happy stories to fill the silence as the battle quieted outside.

 

It took nearly an hour for medics to arrive, and by then Bruce had fallen asleep in her lap. She had her fingers curled in his hair. He had a little smile on his face. She gave the medics a grim look to discourage any questions, and that was that.

 

(Or it would have been. But Bruce ran the second he woke up, and it took Clint two days to find him. Natasha contented herself with the memory of a smile and the hope that it could happen again.)


	3. Steve

Steve was confident. He didn’t hesitate for a second before knocking solidly on Bruce’s door.

 

He waited, standing easily in a parade rest, until Bruce carefully opened the door and stuck his curly-mopped head out. Bruce looked tired—probably because it was only seven in the morning—but he was fully dressed and had clearly been up for a while.

 

“Steve?”

 

“Good morning, Bruce.” Steve slipped into a dazzling smile. “I was going for a run to the farmers market and wondered if you’d like to join me.”

 

Bruce stared at him for a moment before nodding. “Sure. I have to get some shoes on. Come in.”

 

Steve stepped into Bruce’s apartment and stopped in his tracks, surprised. He’d never been on Bruce’s floor of the tower before, but it certainly wasn’t what he expected. He’d expected sparse decorations, maybe a Zen garden or something equally stereotypically. What he saw was just _stuff_. Everywhere. Boxes and boxes of things stacked up along the walls, pictures hanging here and there, knick knacks spread all over.

 

Bruce glanced up at him from where he was tying his shoes. “Tony,” he explained, gesturing at the plethora of items all around.

 

“Ah.” Steve honestly felt a little claustrophobic. He stayed in the entryway.

 

“He communicates through money, and buys more quickly than I can donate.” Bruce shrugged and offered him a wry smile. “Farmers market?”

 

“Yes. It’s not too far.”

 

They walked side-by-side through the brisk fall air. Steve kept his hands in the pockets of his civilian wear. Natasha had given him some pointers on how to dress to avoid detection, and he’d found that hooded sweatshirts were bizarrely comfortable. He glanced to Bruce beside him and examined Bruce’s clothes briefly. Bruce always seemed dressed for undercover work. His clothes were designed to hide in, to make him disappear in a crowd.

 

Bruce was pleasant to shop with, Steve decided. He always offered to hold things, even after Steve explained that there were certain benefits to being a super soldier. Together they picked out a head of cauliflower, three round red onions, and a box of tiny cucumbers.

 

“What are you planning on making?” Bruce asked when they were loaded down with bags of items. Bruce had purchased a tiny jar of blueberry jelly and was holding onto it fiercely.

 

Steve grinned over at him. “Have you ever had mustard pickles?”

 

Bruce had not. Which was a travesty, really, but one that Steve was happy to fix. They set up shop in the communal kitchen, laying out mason jars and lids to sterilize. Bruce followed along with Steve’s snappy commands, moving around the kitchen like he belonged there.

 

It was nice. Cooking was really their only common ground, but Bruce had been reticent to join him lately. As they watched the vinegar and water mixture come to a boil over the stove, Bruce leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Where’d you get this recipe?” Bruce asked.

 

Steve rested against the counter beside him. “One good thing about being Captain America is my entire life exists in museums.” He shrugged his shoulder. “This is an old family recipe. I never knew it, but historians kept it for me.”

 

Bruce glanced over at him, tilting his head to one side. “And that’s…nice?”

 

“It’s better than the alternative.”                                                           

 

“Alternative?”

 

“To lose everything.” Steve found himself staring at the steam rising over the pot. “Time passes so quickly. Things just…disappear. We forget to make time for important things, like learning family recipes. Eventually, there’s no time left. I mean, we’re all mortal, right?”

 

“…Right.”

 

The water began to boil, and Steve sprang into action. There was a flurry of activity, with Bruce hovering nervously and nearly burning himself on a hot jar. Soon enough the jars were filled and lids were placed tight. Steve was wiping the rims with a little towel as Bruce watched.

 

“What do I eat them with?” Bruce asked as Steve shoved a jar full of pickles into his arms. Bruce turned it over in his hands. “It’s so yellow.”

 

“That’s the turmeric.” Steve clapped him on the shoulder and Bruce nearly collapsed beneath him. Steve pulled back a little guiltily. “You can eat them with anything. I used to eat them on sandwiches.”

 

Bruce smiled a little at the jar in his hands, but didn’t look up. “Thank you, Steve.”

 

“No problem. Let me know if you like them?”

 

“I’m sure they’re wonderful.”

 

Steve labelled the lids with the names of the Avengers, his neighbor, a few SHIELD agents he thought might like them. He watched as Bruce picked up his little jar of blueberry jelly and tucked it into the crook of his arm before giving him a little wave.

 

It was simple, and easy, and Steve waved at Bruce’s departing back. He tucked the towel into his pocket and resigned himself to the fact that Bruce was almost certainly going to run.

 

“Jarvis?”

 

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

 

Steve sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Could you let Clint know…?”

 

“Already done.”

 

“Thanks.” Steve examined one of the jars, watching the way it glinted in the artificial light. The glass around it seemed solid, but Steve knew it was surprisingly fragile. He had to be careful, lest he crush the jar in his hands.

 

He hoped someday Bruce would understand that it was okay to have friends. For now, he’d do what he could to make Bruce feel normal and send Clint out when he failed. At least this time Bruce would have a meal to eat on the run—a tiny jar of pickles, encased in glass. Maybe it would remind Bruce of home, as it did for Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know. I wanted them to go for a run and hang out with Falcon, but Steve said, "No. We're making pickles." So they made pickles. XD


	4. Thor

Thor set the box down as gently as he could, examining the way it teetered on the stack of other boxes dangerously. He thought about adjusting it, but Bruce was already at his side with another box.

 

“Thank you again for helping me move all these things,” Bruce said quietly as he set his own box down. “I know it’s probably not what you wanted to do during your time on Earth.”

 

Thor grinned widely at him. He thought about clapping Bruce on the back, but the doctor always seemed so fragile despite his inner strength, and so he resisted the urge. “It is no bother, Doctor,” he said. “I wish to spend my time on Earth with friends, like you.”

 

Bruce seemed to blush at his words, and offered him a tiny smile. “Still, it’s a big help.”

 

“You are quite welcome,” Thor added, a bit belatedly. He was still trying to understand all the niceties surrounding gratitude on Midgard. Bruce never accepted thanks or praise, but always insisted that others did. It was an odd line to walk.

 

They stood together watching the van drive away with the donated goods on board. Thor had his arms crossed over his chest, and he was still smiling broadly. “I did not know you were a collector,” Thor said.

 

Bruce laughed a strange, bitter laugh. “I’m really not.”

 

When he didn’t go on, Thor decided a subject change was in order. “My Lady Jane will be joining me this evening. She has expressed interest in meeting you.” At Bruce’s shocked look, Thor’s smile widened. “Would you join us in our merry-making tonight?”

 

“Oh, I, uh…” Bruce pressed the palms of his hands together. “I wouldn’t want to _intrude_.” He glanced askance at Thor. “On your date, I mean. I’d be the third wheel.”

 

Thor recognized the idiom as something Darcy complained about often. “You needn’t worry, Doctor,” Thor said. “Erik will also be joining us.”

 

At that, Bruce’s face softened. “Erik Selvig?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him in… a long time.”

 

Thor nodded. “Since I returned to Asgard with the Tesseract, correct? Was he a friend of yours?”

 

“We were colleagues,” Bruce explained. “Back before…this whole thing.” He brushed his hand through his hair and looked back down the street at where the van had disappeared. “Maybe I will join you tonight.”

 

“Wonderful!” This time, Thor couldn’t resist clapping Bruce on the back, although he tried to keep his touch light. Bruce gave him a wincing smile, which Thor returned dazzlingly.

 

*

 

The bar was loud—with pumping music and brilliant dancing lights and people gyrating closely together despite the ample space on the dance floor. Thor grinned at the activity and tugged Jane against his side. She was laughing along with his exuberance. Bruce turned around to face him with a slightly panicked look as Thor tried to push him the rest of the way into the bar.

 

“ _This_ is the bar?” Bruce shouted over the music.

 

“Tony suggested it!” Thor’s voice carried easily over the din, and beside him Jane plugged one ear to lessen the noise. “Is it not glorious?”

 

The look on Bruce’s face clearly said _no_ , but Erik elbowed him lightly in the side and offered him a shrug. Bruce relaxed at that, and allowed himself to be pulled along to the bar. They all got drinks—Thor got something fruity with a little umbrella—and made their way to a table in the corner. Thor did his best to drink and be merry as his friends shouted science at one another.

 

Thor enjoyed listening to Jane talk about her interests. The bifrost was high on her list, and Bruce knew a surprising amount about it. Erik punctuated their conversation with little jabs designed to keep them grounded, and Thor countered with his own glorious explanations of Asgardian magic.

 

He was watching Bruce spill his iced tea on Erik as he gestured wildly, Jane tittering into her hand, when he was hit with the sudden urge to _move_. He snatched at Jane with one hand, his other curving around Bruce’s shoulders, and yanked them onto the dance floor. Erik trailed along behind them, face contorted in a smile as Bruce protested that he didn’t know how to dance.

 

“That’s a lie!” Erik told them. “I’ve seen him dance. He’s really good.”

 

Bruce shot him a pleading look, but that was all Thor had to hear. Thor well and truly didn’t know how to dance—not the same way Midgardians did. He let Jane lead, her tiny hands firm on his waist as she swung him around and tried to demonstrate how to sway his hips.

 

“No, no,” Bruce cut in. “What are you doing? Put your shoulders into it more.” He demonstrated, rocking his shoulders back and gracing them with the kind of smile Thor had never seen him sport before. It was the smile of someone who was just one step removed from what was around them. The smile of someone who wanted to join in, to share the joy they held, but who was uncertain of how they would be received. It reminded him—suddenly, painfully—of his brother smiling around a new illusion he’d learned, back when they were still only boys.

 

Thor had to grin around the tears that threatened behind his eyes, but he did indeed put his shoulders into it and learned to dance.

 

The night wound up—with Erik teaching them something called _the robot_ and Jane giggling into his shoulder—and then it wound down to Bruce wiping sweat from his brow and smiling broadly as he pulled Erik aside to share a sudden idea he’d had. They were still shouting and gesturing at each other when the bar closed. Bruce propped up Erik up on one side, and Thor kept him standing on the other as they made their way down the street.

 

Jane looked a little woozy as she swung her high-heeled shoes around in her hand. “This was wonderful!” she exclaimed as the sun began to peek over the horizon. “Bruce, if I can’t remember in the morning, remind me to ask you again about the gamma-consumption.”

 

Bruce smiled pleasantly at her. “I think it already is morning.”

 

She laughed at that, and it was infectious with Thor laughing along with her as they walked back to the Avengers Tower.

 

*

 

Erik found him later, nursing a headache with an ice pack and drinking water by the gallon. He smiled wheezily at Thor, who had never felt the effects of a hangover as strongly as Erik seemed to.

 

Thor was alone in the kitchen eating a poptart (Tony had mentioned something about an “endorsement deal”) when Erik slipped into the chair across from him. He set the ice pack down and fixed Thor with a curious gaze.

 

“I was hoping to speak with Dr. Banner this morning,” he said. “But the AI informs me he’s left?”

 

Thor deflated a little, his poptarts suddenly tasting dry as dust in his mouth. “It is an unfortunate habit of the Doctor. He often disappears for several days. He only allows Clint to bring him back. He returns… a different person, each time.”

 

Erik nodded a little and winced, drawing the icepack back to his forehead. “That’s a shame.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

They sat in contemplative silence for a long while. Erik sipped at his water and Thor chewed methodically at his breakfast. After a moment, Erik hummed to himself and Thor looked up to see a small smile on the scientist’s face.

 

“I’m glad that boy has found friends,” Erik said suddenly, still looking sick around his smile.

 

Thor frowned quizzically at him. “You speak of Bruce?”

 

“Yes.” Erik spun his glass around, staring at the way the water clung to the sides. “He’s had a tough life, no thanks to me. It’s unfortunate, but…” He glanced up, then away. “It gave him friends like you.”

 

Thro was uncertain what to say. The moment felt heavily weighted over them. He was reminded of his attempts to pick up Mjolnir in the desert. He could see what he had to do, he had fought hard to get there, but upon arrival he found that he just _couldn’t do it_. He couldn’t say what he was supposed to say, couldn’t offer comfort to the man before him.

 

Instead, they sat in silence until Jane entered rubbing sleep from her eyes, and Thor plastered his princely smile on his face.


	5. Tony

Tony was perfectly content with buying Bruce nice things and pretending the _whole whoops, tried to kiss you sorry your brain is very attractive to me_ thing never happened. At least, he was content until Clint dropped out of the ceiling practically on top of him and fixed him with a piercing glare.

“ _What the hell_?” Tony managed, clutching at his chest theatrically. “Were you hiding in the air ducts? Who does that? That’s insane. You’re insane.”

Clint rolled his shoulders back in a shrug and gave Tony a crooked smile. “Got a question for you.”

“Is it ‘can you make the air ducts bigger’? Because the answer is _no_. I’m going fill them with glue traps. Or little lasers. On second thought, laser glue traps.”

“No.” Clint almost seemed amused, and then his gaze hardened. Tony gulped. “Have you talked to Bruce?”

“I talk to Bruce all the time,” Tony said, even though he hadn’t actually talked to Bruce in a while. He was pretty sure Bruce was avoiding him, in fact. “Why, just the other day—” (Two months ago.) “We had a long chat—” (They exchanged three sentences.) “About what movie to watch on movie night.” (That part was true, at least.)

Clint looked nonplussed, clearly seeing through all of Tony’s lies. “This has gone on too long, Tony.”

He shifted around, looking anywhere but at Clint. “Don’t know what we’re supposed to talk about…”

Clint sighed. He strolled forward and grabbed Tony’s shoulders, shaking him lightly. “I already told you what to say,” he said, clearly exasperated. “Just apologize! Explain yourself! You at least talked to Pepper, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony brushed him off. “And then she and Bruce went off and had wild conference adventures without me.” He definitely wasn’t pouting. Maybe a little.

Clint almost seemed amused by his petulance. “Let me put it this way: Go talk to him, or I’ll shoot you.”

Tony ground his teeth together and smiled acerbically. “Well, when you say it like that…”

*

In the end, he still equivocated until Bruce eventually hunted him down and cornered him in the kitchen.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as Bruce slipped into the chair across from him at the table and placed a small jar of jelly in front of him. Tony stared at the jelly, then glanced up at Bruce who was gazing somberly out the window.

“It’s blueberry,” Bruce said. He dropped his gaze to Tony and offered him a hesitant smile. “Thought you might like it.”

Tony accepted the jar and cradled it, turning it over in his hands and wondering how everything had gone so wrong. “Thanks,” he said, then he berated himself and added, “I’m sorry.”

Bruce’s smile quavered a moment before falling completely. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

Ton grimaced. “No, but see, I’m not—” He waved his hand in the air for a moment like he was trying to grab at the words. “An adult? A normal person? This has been going on for weeks—”

“Two months, actually.” Bruce almost looked amused, but maybe Tony was seeing what he wanted to see.

“See, there you go. Normal people would know how to keep track of time. Normal people don’t lock themselves in their lab and let the days run together.” He gestured at himself. “I’m so not normal, and I screwed up. So I’m sorry, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded along with his little explanation, but stopped short at agreeing with the apology. “I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you.” Tony could see Bruce worrying his hands together under the table. “I’d like to make it up to you, if I can.”

“I’m such an idiot,” Tony said. He waved away Bruce’s sharp look. “Shut up, it’s true. But we’ve gotten through worse, right? Can we do friends again?”

Bruce gazed at him somberly for a moment before twisting his mouth into a smile. “I just got in a shipment of sodium. Want to start something on fire?”

“Yes. Definitely yes.”

The path to redemption was filled with chemical reactions and colorful flames. Pieces of metal and suits. Tests on new arrows, widow’s bites, metal wings, and holographic shields. Tiny experiments and fire extinguishers. There were bots in the way and smiles.

*

It was three weeks later when Bruce sidled up to him in the lab with a fistful of datapads. Tony looked them over and made corrections here and there and they got started on their new Ultron project. Bruce was watching a metal join twist and bend when he glanced over at Tony nervously.

Tony hadn’t been paying any attention to Bruce, so caught up in ideas and whirs of numbers that he was caught completely by surprise.

“Can I ask your advice?” Bruce asked.

Tony glanced over at him and mumbled around the stylus in his mouth. “Mnr?”

Bruce smirked. He seemed to be doing that more, lately. “It’s about Clint.”

“Hawkass?” Tony trailed his hands over the holographic screens, poking at numbers and graphs here and there. “What’s he done this time?”

“Nothing,” Bruce said. “I was just…I think that I like him, but I wasn’t sure…I’m not so good at…” He trailed off and returned to the screens. “Never mind.”

Tony tipped his head to one side, examining Bruce critically. He wondered if he should feel jealous. There’d been a time when he’d thought that what he wanted was _Bruce_ , but now he realized that maybe what he wanted was for Bruce to be _happy_. And despite his friend’s nervous disposition, his flighty hands as he tried to brush away the conversation, Tony knew that of all the people in the world Clint would be the one to work hardest at keeping Bruce smiling.

“There’s this place Pepper really likes,” he said conversationally. “Gastronomy stuff. Foam on every plate. I know the chef. I can get you a reservation for two there, if you’d like.” He knew it wasn’t what either man normally did, but he wasn’t sure what else to offer.

A certain tension leaked out of Bruce’s shoulders, although he didn’t turn away from the screens. “Thank you, Tony,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”

Tony smiled back, and the two of them got to work.


	6. Bruce (+1)

There are about a million different kinds of love. Give Clint enough time, and proper motivation, and he’ll list them all for you. He’ll drone on, each type falling from his crooked smile to lie bare before the world. He was never sure how, exactly, he learned all these different types. The loves of a friend, of a co-worker, of a SHIELD handler, an ex-KGB spy, a lover. He takes all these people and he adds them to his family, the strange conglomeration of faces and bodies that is more important to him than flesh and blood.

He didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky, to get all these different people in his life. To experience all these things. But he takes his luck and he turns it around and tries to explain it to Bruce.

Because Bruce just…doesn’t believe him, most of the time. Doesn’t believe when Clint points out that he is loved too. That Pepper would forgive him anything, that Natasha would give up her secrets for him, that Steve wants to share his past, and that Thor wants to make him smile. Or that Tony doesn’t know what he wants—only that he wants Bruce happy in the same way Clint does.

Sometimes, he tries to make it clear in little ways. He makes Bruce his favorite tea, and puts up with Bruce forcing him to drink some. He hides notes in his lab with pictures of little hearts with arrows through them. He listens and shares and explains all the different kinds of love to Bruce over, and over, and over again in the desperate hope that Bruce will someday listen. Will someday understand that it’s okay to be loved.

Sometimes, he makes it clear in big ways. In the ways that only the two of them share. When he traipses across the country—sometimes across the world—to bring Bruce back home. Back to the waiting arms of his friends. Back to safety that makes Bruce uncomfortable but which he is slowly, painfully slowly, warming up to.

Sometimes, he nips it in the bud and they run away together.

On one of those times, when the sun was dipping low over the horizon, barely competing with their tiny campfire for light, Clint tried to put into words how he was feeling.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure himself.

He stumbled around and clenched his fists and Bruce kept giving him that slight almost-smile, his brown eyes bright with amusement. Clint didn’t know, exactly, what kind of love this was. There were so many kinds—like a novel’s worth when the world asked you to pick only one word. Clint could flip through the pages and see and know and understand all these different kinds, but he didn’t know which one fit him and Bruce.

They ate sticky marshmallows and stale graham crackers, and they had forgotten the chocolate at home. Clint felt himself growing philosophical, gesturing with his marshmallow stick at the sky that was slowly slipping into starlight.

“S’not always logical,” he said around sticky sweetness. “But it’s there, you know? There’s this whole team I’d never thought I’d have. A whole family I didn’t know I needed.” Bruce made a small noise of affirmation, and Clint rolled over to look at him. Bruce was staring into the fire, bright orange light brushing over his cheeks, casting his face into shadow. “But I have them now, and it’s the best damned thing ever.”

He thought he saw a smile steal over Bruce’s face. Maybe it was the light. “I used to think family was a punishment,” Bruce whispered. Clint bit his lip, clenched his fists, but didn’t say anything. “Then, I thought maybe it was a liability. Something for people to use against you. Something you might damage yourself. Now?” He glanced over at Clint, and his smile was definitely genuine now, rusty and damaged but shoring up around the edges like Bruce was doing everything in his power to keep it there. “I think it’s a gift.”

Clint laughed. It spilled from his lips happy and free, and the stupid smile he was giving Bruce was just this side of embarrassing. “Yeah, it is.”

It wasn’t articulate. There was no poetry, no singing angels. But as Clint smiled up and Bruce smiled down, something seemed to click together for them. Clint watched Bruce’s mouth open, and he stuck out his arm automatically before Bruce was half finished.

“Is it all right if I—” Bruce interrupted himself with a laugh, and it was sudden and bright and seemed to catch both of them by surprise. He eyed Clint’s outstretched arm and slipped forward, crawling across the dirt to wrap his fingers around Clint’s wrist. He held him fast, soft and soothing.

“Can always touch me,” Clint said.

Bruce just shook his head, the unspoken _and I will always ask_ hanging between them. “Actually,” he said mildly, as if Clint was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all day. His fingers danced out, brushing over the pulse on Clint’s wrist and resting there. “I was going to ask if I could kiss you.”

Clint froze, for just a moment, acutely aware of the quiet sounds of the night. Of crickets chirping and the fire cracking. Of cold dirt sifting beneath him, roughing at him. He was aware of warm fingers against his arm, calm searching eyes gently imploring him. It was such a simple request, easy and kind, that Clint couldn’t help but nod.

“Yeah,” he breathed, and Bruce swallowed up his added, “Sure.”

Bruce tasted of marshmallows and dry cookies. Their kiss was chaste, poignant, frail. Just a whisper and an ask, and Clint answered back with an enthusiastic _yes_ as he twisted his arm to hold Bruce’s hand in his own, ran his thumb over Bruce’s knuckles, kept those two points of contact alive and thrumming like his heart in his chest.

When Bruce pulled back his eyes were half-lidded, his smile soft and easy and not as broken around the edges. They shifted and Bruce lay down beside Clint, holding his hand tightly and whispering, “Just needed to make sure you’re alive.”

Clint thought his heart might break. He reached out—slow and careful, each stilted movement an unspoken question—and trailed his fingers in Bruce’s hair. Bruce winced when he touched his ear, and Clint raised his hand higher until Bruce was humming in contentment, smooth curly locks combed through by Clint’s broad fingers.

There were a million different kinds of love. The love of a mother to her child. A mentor to his mentee. A lover to her loved. A friend to her friend. A spy to her watched one. A leader to his team. A god to his equals. A broken genius to his brother. Clint could name them all, if you asked him.

But he couldn’t quite put a name to this. He just leaned in when Bruce asked, and shared a second kiss.

They were pieces of metal, rough around the edges, rusty and broken and shattered. They didn’t always fit, not even with each other. But they looked good together, scratchy edges side-by-side, sharp as a knife’s edge, rough as steel wool. But also gentle, careful of the damage they could cause.

Maybe that was enough.


End file.
